The Marshal's Prize (Harlequin American Romance)

by Winters, Rebecca

  Bruno nodded solemnly and told her what he’d discovered. “In all the years this company has been in business, we’ve had small thefts here and there, but we’ve never had anything major like this.” He went on to give her the details. “Your father agrees with me we need immediate expert help from an outside source.”

  “You mean the police.”

  “No. They’ll bungle it.” He waved his hand. “I want answers fast in an environment of absolute secrecy. This is where you come in. I’ve done some checking and want you to go to this P.I. firm today. They’re reputed to be the best. I’ve called them and they’ll be expecting you. Talk to the owner. Tell him the problem and find out what he suggests.”

  He pulled a paper from his suit pocket with a name and address on it and handed it to her. She was surprised to discover it read “Roman Lufka Private Investigators,” located on Wasatch Boulevard. She must have passed it thousands of times, but she’d never known anything about it.

  Bewildered, she stared at Bruno. “You trust me to take care of something this critical?”

  He eyed her steadily. “No one knows the ins and outs of this company better than you do, and your father agrees with me. You’re as brainy and savvy as my grandmother Saska, who started the whole thing. One day you’ll be the CEO, mark my words.”

  Not if some of the family had anything to do with it, Heidi thought. Besides, she didn’t have aspirations in that regard. But she loved him for saying it. Tears pricked her eyes before she got up from the chair and hugged him again.

  Bruno could have asked anyone on the twelve-member board—all family—to do this. They’d had years more experience and wisdom. Yet the fact that he and her father had so much faith in her gave Heidi a much needed morale boost. Her bad choice of husband and ugly divorce had badly undermined her confidence.

  “I want you free to work with this firm, so I’m going to ask your aunt Marcia to take over your duties temporarily. I’ll tell her you’ll be busy for the rest of this week visiting our outlets around the valley. That way no one will suspect anything. I trust you to handle this any way you see fit. This has to be between you and me and your father, no one else.”

  Though Bruno had bestowed a distinct honor on her, she couldn’t help but be troubled. “Do you think Rosaline is behind this?”

  He looked agonized. “My sister and I have always been at odds, but I don’t think she put Jonas and Lucas up to this. Unfortunately I can’t rule it out as a possibility.”

  She nodded. The Bauers were a huge family with many internal problems. Bruno had put out little fires for years on a regular basis, but Jonas and Lucas stealing from the company was a totally different level of concern.

  “Go ahead and leave now,” Bruno said. “Phone me tonight and tell me how it went.” He patted her hand before wheeling out of the room.

  Heidi took care of some emails, then grabbed her purse and headed out to her white Nissan, parked at the side of the building. After dropping her six-year-old son, Zack, off at school earlier in the day, she’d driven to work wondering what new problems she might face. She’d never have entertained the thought of their family being on the brink of an internal war, let alone that Bruno would have put her in charge of working with a P.I. to handle it.

  The Bauer building was located just below Wasatch Boulevard on Thirty-third South. She got in her car and headed for the Lufka firm farther north. After she’d done business there, she would find a substitute for Jim. By then it would be time to pick up Zack.

  When she entered the P.I. building, the receptionist said they’d been expecting her. She was shown into Roman Lufka’s private office. The attractive, dark-haired owner listened and asked questions, then excused himself. “I need to see if the P.I. I want to work with you has arrived at the office yet. Can I get you a coffee while you wait?”

  “No, thank you.”

  * * *

  MITCH HAD LEFT HIS OFFICE door open. To his surprise Roman walked in and put a cup of coffee on his desk. “Do you have a minute?”

  “Sure. Thanks for this.” He took a sip. What harm was there in one more dose of caffeine? “I was planning to have a talk with you at the end of the day, but as long as you’re here, maybe I should get this over with now.”

  Roman’s brows furrowed. “You saw the doctor this morning. What’s the verdict?”

  His boss was a straight talker. It was one of the reasons Mitch liked him so much. He deserved straight talk back. Letting out a deep sigh he said, “I’m free to return to Florida.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of. I guess I don’t have to tell you no one in this office—and I mean no one—wants to see you go, least of all me. Since your arrival, you’ve become an invaluable asset to the firm. But much as I’d like to twist your arm and beg you to make this your career, I happen to know Lew Davies has been counting the days until your return. I can only imagine you must be anxious to leave, too.”

  Mitch shot to his feet. “Hell, Roman—I don’t know what I’m feeling right now. I’ve been in a fog since I left TOSH this morning.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. You may be a crack federal marshal, but you’re also a natural-born P.I. I don’t want to lose you. Would you like some advice from a man who’s been in your shoes?”

  “Of course.” Mitch had immense respect for Roman, a man in his midforties who’d done and seen a lot in his life.

  “Now that your body has healed, give yourself a little more time to let the news sink in before you make any decision. In the meantime, I have a new case that might appeal to you. It requires your bloodhound instincts.” Roman cocked his head. “I hope you’re interested, because if you are, I’ll talk to Lew Davies and tell him I need you for a little longer. When you’ve solved this case, maybe by then you’ll know if the federal marshal in you won’t let go.”

  “Bless you for the reprieve, Roman.” Mitch felt that an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Who’s the client?”

  His boss’s face broke out in a broad smile. “You’re going to love it.”

  Mitch chuckled in spite of the seriousness of the situation. His boss was the best and also one of the biggest teases he knew. “I know you’re dying for me to ask why.”

  Roman nodded. “You’re not going to believe it. Every guy in the firm would give his eyeteeth to work on it.”

  “That good, huh?”

  “‘Good’ doesn’t begin to describe it. I’ll give you a hint. What could none of us around here live without?”

  “Coffee.”

  “Think what goes with it.”

  Mitch didn’t have to think. “SweetSpuds.”

  “This is your lucky day. I’ll bring her in to meet you.”

  “Her?”

  “Heidi Bauer Norris, twenty-nine and divorced with a six-year-old son.” He paused at the door. “She’s the great-great-granddaughter of Saska Bauer, who emigrated from Austria to Salt Lake in 1892 and founded the Bauer Donut company. Her family has been making SweetSpuds ever since. They’re the premier-selling donut in the western half of the U.S. Our firm has helped keep them in business.”

  Mitch could vouch for that.

  “I’ve already discussed the fee with her. But you might tell her we’d be happy to negotiate part of it. I’m sure you can think of a way that will please everyone.”

  Laughter rolled out of Mitch, a much needed release. But it quickly subsided when Roman escorted the woman in question into his office seconds later. She was probably five six. Her tailored blue summer suit with the short-sleeved jacket revealed a trim figure.

  When Roman introduced them, he found himself looking into impossibly light blue eyes. Her tiny earrings were crystals of the same, which sparkled from beneath a mop of pale gold curls that he bet had looked that way from childhood.r />
  She was in a word, beautiful.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Norris. Please sit down.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Garrett. I appreciate your being available so quickly.”

  Roman’s narrowed eyes sent him a private message. “I’ll leave you two alone to discuss the case.”

  “Being available goes with this business,” he said after his boss departed. “It’s the nature of the job. Every client’s needs are immediate.”

  She nodded. “My great-uncle Bruno couldn’t get me out of the office fast enough this afternoon to talk to someone from your firm.”

  “We’ll do all we can to help you.” He smiled, and in an effort to make her feel comfortable, said, “I understand you have a six-year-old son. Lucky you.”

  “Yes. His name is Zack and he’s the light of my life.”

  “I can imagine.”

  He sat down opposite her. “I’m going to record our conversation. Is that all right with you?”

  “Of course, but does anyone ever say no?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Then what do you do?”

  “Take handwritten notes, but I have difficulty reading my own writing.”

  “So do I.”

  When her heart-shaped mouth curved into a smile, Mitch realized he would have to figure out a way not to stare at her. An attraction like this hadn’t happened to him for so long, he felt out of his depth.

  His boss had been up to his old tricks when he’d teased him about this being his lucky day. He hadn’t just been talking about the donuts.

  Before he got started, he drank some of his coffee. “I’m going to ask you a lot of questions. Try to be as explicit and detailed as possible. It will help me get the picture I need.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Good. Let’s start with your great-uncle Bruno. What’s his position in the company?”

  “He’s been the CEO of Bauer’s for forty years.”

  “That’s a long time. What’s the reason he suddenly needs a P.I., and why didn’t he come himself?”

  “Bruno is eighty-seven now and confined to a wheelchair because of a stroke he had six months ago. It’s hard for him to go many places, but his mind is still razor-sharp, and his wife, my great-aunt Bernice, still fusses over him. His grandson, Karl Bauer—he’s thirty-five—works in lower management and drives him to work and back. On his lunch hour Karl picks up Bruno—Bruno puts in half days at the office—then they both go home together.”

  Despite recording, Mitch took notes just to keep his eyes averted as much as possible. “I assume you’re talking about the Bauer building on Thirty-third South? I’ve passed it many times.”

  “Yes. It’s our headquarters. When I got back from lunch today, Bruno came to my office and told me in private he fears someone within the company is stealing from us. As I’ve learned over the years, most businesses can expect a certain amount of theft, but we’ve never had anything this big or alarming until now.”

  “Does he always confide in you over a serious matter like this?”

  “Well, we’ve always been close. I think of him as my grandfather now that my real grandfather has passed away. They were brothers and best friends. I spent a lot of time with him while he was recovering from his stroke. He says I remind him of his grandmother Saska, who started the company. There’s an old family picture of her at the age of twenty-five. I do look like her and he loved her a lot.”

  “Obviously he loves and trusts you. Who else has he told?”

  “My father, Ernst Bauer. He’s sixty-three and the general manager of operations for the company. Right now he’s in Nebraska with my mother, Marva. They’re visiting my older sister, Evy. She’s thirty-two and just had her third child. They won’t be back for about five more days.”

  “What’s your position in the company?”

  “I’m the director of human resources.”

  “How long have you worked in that position?”

  “Two years.”

  “So if I wanted a job with your company, I would apply to you.”

  “Right. I don’t have the power to hire, but I make recommendations. So far every prospective employee I’ve vetted has been hired.”

  “I’m sure your great-uncle finds that impressive. Do you have any siblings besides Evy?”

  “Yes. My brother, Rich. He’s thirty-six and has been head of the accounting department for five years. He’s married to Sharon and they have four children.”

  Mitch sat back in his chair. “Explain to me what exactly is being stolen.”

  “The mix for our donuts. It’s manufactured and bagged at our plant in Woods Cross. We ship it all over the western states in our own fleet of trucks. The bags are loaded from the warehouse onto the trucks and they’re delivered to our various outlets and franchises.”

  “How did Bruno discover the theft?”

  “Through his closest friend, Victor Tolman. Vic’s son Don owns a Bauer donut franchise in Phoenix. Bruno and Vic talk all the time. When he found out Bruno was well enough to get back to work, Vic confided something he’d been holding back.

  “It seems that over the last five months, one bag of mix in every shipment arriving in Phoenix was missing. In its place was a bag of potato flour.”

  Mitch eyed her in puzzlement. “Potato flour?”

  “Yes. Our SweetSpuds are made with potato flour rather than wheat. It’s from an old recipe Saska brought with her from Austria. When there was no wheat available there, they cooked potatoes, then dried them and crushed them into powder to make their bread. It’s the reason our donuts outsell other kinds. Potato flour makes a much lighter donut.”

  “I had no idea. That’s fascinating. I can eat a dozen at one sitting.”

  She laughed softly. “Bruno would love to hear you say that.”

  “Do you grow your own potatoes?”

  “No. We buy a special kind in Idaho and have them shipped down to our plant. Through a unique process we turn them into flour and put it in bags. They’re stored in the Woods Cross facility before being taken to the other part of the plant where the mix is made up and put into bags to be shipped.”

  “Are all the bags the same?”

  “Yes, but they have a different tag. The flour-only tag is red, the mix tag is blue—they’re sewn into the bottom seam of each bag and the expiration date for the contents is stamped beneath them. The men loading and unloading the bags on dollies wouldn’t notice the color of the tags unless they’re looking for it. But they wouldn’t be looking because the bags are kept in separate areas and depend on the quality-control person to catch mistakes like that.”

  “How many locations receive deliveries?”

  “Four hundred and thirty. When the mistake happened the first time, Don dismissed it. But it happened again in each of the three subsequent shipments. By the fifth shipment he talked to his father who advised him to email the plant office. Don received an email back telling him his next shipment would contain five extra bags of mix and sorry for the inconvenience.

  “When Bruno tried to pull up the emails, they weren’t there. Suspecting something was wrong, he phoned the manager of our outlet in Albuquerque and learned the same thing had been happening. The manager had reported the errors by email, and the plant had shipped him an extra bag each time. Again Bruno couldn’t find those emails. After another call to one of the franchises in San Bernardino, Bruno heard the same story and came to the conclusion it was happening everywhere.”

  “What’s the shipping frequency?”

  “Shipments go out every weekday to all the western states, including Utah. Bruno figures that over the last five months, hundreds of bags of mix have been stolen.”

  Mitch let
out a low whistle. “That’s quite a few bags pilfered while Bruno was ill. If unstopped it wouldn’t take long to stockpile a nice stash that could be used to sell donuts under another name.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “When Bruno first had his stroke, there was talk that he would never be able to come back to work. But he’s a fighter and went to therapy. He put in his first half days last week, yet since his return, neither Jonas—he’s the plant manager—nor his son, Lucas, who runs the warehouse, has mentioned there’s a problem. He believes one or both of them are covering up.”

  “Not necessarily. It might be some underlings deleting the emails and pulling this off under their noses.”

  “You’re right. Could be anyone in the warehouse.”

  “Tell me about Jonas and Lucas.”

  “Jonas is the son of Bruno’s oldest sister, Rosaline Martin. He’s sixty-one and the head of the plant. He could be masterminding the thefts through his son, Lucas, who runs the warehouse and is the quality-control person.”

  “How old’s Lucas?”

  “Thirty-seven. He has a wife and three children.”

  “Aside from assuming that greed and/or jealousy could be the motive, plus the fact that these two hold key positions in the company—which give them the means to carry out this crime—is there any other reason Bruno has suspected them particularly?”

  “Rosaline has always wanted to expand Bauer’s to the Midwest and East Coast. We know she has indoctrinated her children with that idea. Some of the other family members agree with her, but Bruno has never seen the need to grow the company because of the headaches involved. So far there haven’t been enough votes for her wishes to prevail at the family board meetings.”

  “So it’s very possible either Jonas or his son, or both, have decided to take things into their own hands,” Mitch surmised. She nodded. “Run me through the quality-control process.”

  “During the workday, the mix is made up and put into bags. A crew of warehouse workers loads them on motorized carts and they’re taken to the warehouse bay where they’re left overnight, ready to load on trucks the next day. Jonas’s job is to count them and put all the information in the computer.